Page 25 of When It's Us
“Nope.”
She lets out a breath. “It’s just...different. Something you don’t get unless you’ve been there.”
I inhale deeply, trying to clear the suffocated feeling from my chest. Godamnit. Not here.Not now.
She lets out a long sigh before she bumps my foot with hers. “Now what?”
“Here,” I say, motioning for her to lift her foot.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says, her voice laced with annoyance. “I can take care of myself.”
“Just give me your foot, California.”
She’s hesitant at first but lifts it enough for me to pull it into my lap. As I undo the lace, she groans.
“Something hurt?” I ask, forcing my eyes to stay on her shoes and not travel up those thick, creamy thighs.
She shakes her head in my peripheral, shoulders slumping as she takes in her red-dirt caked shoes. “These shoes were brand new.”
“Well, I’d say they’re broken in now.” I loosen the laces before carefully working the shoe off the foot she was limping on the worst.
She winces a bit but makes no noise other than that.
I work my finger under the top of her sock and carefully draw it off her foot. I’ve never been into feet, but something about the baby pink toenail polish on the tips of her toes has my heart rate kicking up. Maybe it’s the intimacy of the moment, or maybe it’sthe fact that she’s not bitching at me for once, but either way, it’s…different.
As I suspected, she’s got a good-sized blister on the side of the pad of her foot, right below her big toe, and one on the top of her second toe that’s popped and oozing. She’s also got one hell of an angry mark on the back of her heel. Had she gone much further in those shoes, all those spots would have been bleeding within minutes.
“The other one this bad, too?” I murmur and rip open an antiseptic packet before dabbing it over the open blister.
She hisses out a breath but shakes her head. “This one is the worst, I think.”
I nod and set to work cleaning and applying ointment to the sores before putting Band-Aids over them. I carefully set her foot on the decking and reach for her other foot. She lets me remove her shoe and sock but stays quiet as I inspect her other foot.
This one isn’t nearly as bad, no blisters yet, but there will be soon if she puts those shoes back on.
“You got other shoes? Flip flops or something?” I ask, setting her foot down.
“Yeah, slides,” she says before moving to stand.
I put a hand on her shoulder and keep her in place, standing up. “Tell me where. This decking is full of splinters. That’s the last thing those feet need right now.”
Her lashes flutter a bit as she watches me, eyes cautious. “They’re in the smallest suitcase, right-hand side.”
I nod, open the van’s side door, and haul the suitcase onto the picnic table. Unzipping it, I find everything folded neatly into packing cubes. Like she said, her shoes are tucked in with three other pairs, all in their own cube. I pull out a pair of expensive-looking leather slides, walk them over, and hand them to her.
“Thanks,” she says, taking them from me and sliding them onto both her feet.
“Should probably rest your feet a bit.” I glance at my watch. It’s already after seven. “You hungry?”
She stands with a nod.
“Let’s go grab some food,” I tell her while I pick up the empty Band-Aid wrappers, and she repacks the ointment before crossing over to close her suitcase. “There’s a good diner not too far from here.”
“Let me change first.”
“What’s wrong with what you’ve got on?” I ask, not willing to admit I really fucking like seeing her in my flannel.
Looking down to take in her clothing, she meets my gaze with a withering look. “Not all of us live in B.F.E., and chop wood all day.”
